Why Every Shiva Notice Is an Invitation: How a Kehillah Shows Up

Rav Bendavid, Shabbat Chazon 5786

Over the past few weeks, our community has had four shiva homes. Many people have come to pay shiva calls, and that is deeply appreciated by the families. But attendance at several of the shiva minyanim has been lower than it should be.

I know it's vacation season. People are away, and sometimes the family isn't someone we know particularly well. Still, I feel a responsibility to write about this, because I believe it touches on one of the most fundamental questions of what it means to belong to a kehillah.

Shlomo HaMelech writes: “⁨טוֹב לָלֶכֶת אֶל בֵּית אֵבֶל מִלֶּכֶת אֶל בֵּית מִשְׁתֶּה⁩ – It is better to go to a house of mourning than to a house of celebration.” (Kohelet 7:2)

At first glance, the pasuk is difficult to understand. Who wants to go to a house of mourning? Why would Shlomo HaMelech prefer a beit evel over a beit mishteh?

Rashi captures the idea beautifully. He describes it as “⁨מִדָּה הַנּוֹהֶגֶת בַּחַיִּים וּבַמֵּתִים⁩” — a type of conduct that serves both the living and the dead.

What does Rashi mean?

Going to a shiva house impacts everyone involved. The deceased is honored. The mourners are comforted. And those of us who walk through the door leave changed.

Every time I walk into a shiva home, I hear the stories that really matter. I hear about the values people lived by, the sacrifices they made for their families, the friendships they built, and the quiet acts of kindness that often went unnoticed. I almost always leave with a clearer perspective on what a life well lived actually looks like. A shiva house reminds us not only how people died, but how they lived.

But I think there is another beautiful idea hidden in this pasuk.

A beit mishteh is by invitation. Before you attend a wedding or another simchah, you wait to receive an invitation. You don't simply walk in.

A beit evel is different. You don't need an invitation. You don't have to call first. You don't have to wonder whether you know the family well enough. Halachah has already extended the invitation on behalf of the mourner.

For one week, the normal social barriers disappear. People who might never otherwise meet find themselves sitting together, davening together, and comforting the same family. A beit evel doesn't just comfort mourners—it builds community.

That is why I value going to shiva homes so much. They remind me what really matters, and they remind me that communities are built not only in moments of celebration, but also in moments of loss.

There is one final point that I would like to leave you with:

Paying a shiva call is a beautiful mitzvah. Making sure there is a minyan is equally important.

When a shiva notice is sent out, it is easy to think, "I'm sure enough people will come." But communities are built when each of us refuses to make that assumption. That notice is speaking to you. That notice is your invitation.

As a rabbi, I have stood in shiva homes where families quietly wondered whether there would be enough people for Minchah or Ma'ariv. No mourner should have to worry about that. Their focus should be on remembering their loved one, saying Kaddish, and beginning the slow process of healing. Making the minyan is our responsibility.

Every community has people who instinctively understand this. I think of Steve Adler and Lyn Kacev. Steve makes sure to attend minyan. Lyn always brings a cake and a warm smile. They are role models for us all.

Imagine if we all adopted that mindset. Every shiva notice would become a personal invitation: "I need to show up. I need to attend one of the minyanim. I need to help make the minyan. And at the same time, I need to make sure there is still a minyan at the shul."

If each of us thought that way, no family would ever have to wonder whether there would be a minyan. That is how a kehillah shows up.

The next time you receive a shiva notice, don't simply think, "I hope they'll have a minyan." Think instead: "I'll be one of the ten."